


Darkly Beloved

by carzla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Demon Dean, Episode: s10e03 Soul Survivor, Innuendo, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2606768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carzla/pseuds/carzla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been eight years since their first meeting. Eight eventful years. Through it all, they’d saved each other numerous times, even as they’d failed on other occasions. This time, Castiel was determined to succeed. He had once pulled Dean Winchester out of a hell he did not deserve to be in, and that was before Castiel had known the man behind his destiny. Now, he would do it again. But with familiarity, came the pain of being struck where it hurt the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkly Beloved

**Author's Note:**

> So this ended up being way behind schedule, considering when the episode aired. Ah well. Work life is just so busy. >.>"
> 
> Much thanks to Lyrial for beta-ing! Especially since the latter portion of the fic was mostly written/edited while half-asleep after work.

It was like déjà vu. The setting and circumstance might have been different, but the goal was still the same. Saving Dean Winchester.

Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean from behind, making sure to restrain Dean’s hands and putting newly-granted angelic strength to use.

“It’s over, Dean,” he said quietly but firmly. “It’s over.”

The first time he’d pulled Dean from Hell, Dean had already been turning into a demon. But at the time, he hadn’t sought to use words to soothe the struggling soul wrapped up in his grace. He had merely held on tighter, and though he had never had any intent to harm, his actions had inadvertently left a physical scar on Dean’s reconstructed body, just as traces of his grace were left behind in Dean’s soul as he washed away the demonic taint.

This time, Castiel did not have the means to turn Dean back into a human. He was on borrowed grace, and Heaven – though not against him – was not a supporting source of power from which he could draw strength. So he could only hold on tighter through Dean’s thrashing, his animalistic growls and roars of rage. All the while, he murmured in a low tone to Dean, hoping somehow that his words would penetrate the cloud of demonic, Mark of Cain-fueled rage and reach what still remained of Dean’s human soul.

Finally, after several minutes, it seemed that Dean had exhausted himself, temporarily at least, from fighting against another supernatural creature. His struggles subsided, as did his expressions of anger – verbal or otherwise. Dean’s eyes, however, were still demon-black when he turned his head back slightly to look at Castiel again, a cruel smirk twisting his lips.

“Hello angel, you enjoying yourself? Wanna enjoy yourself some more? Cause I’ve got a few suggestions to make.”

Castiel ignored the lurch of his heart at the implications of Dean’s words. This wasn’t Dean. Not really. Instead, he angled his head towards Sam. Wordlessly, they transported a strangely quiescent – at least in terms of physical fighting – Dean back to the dungeon. But all the while, Dean kept a running commentary directed at Castiel.

“Can’t keep your hands off of me, can you? I doubt it has anything to do with making sure I don’t get the jump on Sammy again.”

Castiel kept silent, refusing to rise to the bait.

“Ignoring me, are you? Well, you’ve always been good at that, angel.”

Dean had implied this before, and it still pained Castiel to realize that Dean, even after all these years, did not believe that Castiel would not leave him alone if he could help it. If Castiel was not a danger to Dean. But Dean had abandonment issues even before they had met, and Castiel could acknowledge that on this front, he had not done a very good job to reassure his friend.

“Speaking of. You’re all jacked up and glowy again. I can tell. Did you slit one of your siblings’ throats? Kinda like what I was trying to do? Y’know, if it was that chick that tried to get me killed, I’d really rather have my own go at her.”

Both him and Sam tried to remain stoic in the face of Dean’s taunting. But the last one hit a little too close to home for both of them. Castiel saw Sam’s minute flinch at the reminder that his brother had truly wanted to kill him, while he struggled not to let his own neutral expression slip, even if Dean couldn’t really see it at this moment. Castiel knew that he hadn’t been the one to kill Adina, but he still could not resist accepting the grace when it had been forced upon him. He had thought that he had made peace with his impending death, but as it appeared, he had not. 

(Or was it because he had yet to save Dean? Because it would _always_ come back to Dean.)

Regardless, it was true that another of his siblings had died pointlessly, and he wished that it did not have to be so.

When they reached the dungeon room, Dean started to fight back physically and it took some maneuvering to seat him back on the chair and tie him back down. Castiel had to expend some of his grace to pin down Dean’s legs, while he continued to hold down Dean’s hands from behind the chair so that Sam would not receive a demonically strengthened kick, or punch, to the face.

As Sam worked on making the ropes even more secure than before, Dean tilted his head back to look at Castiel, still wearing a smug smirk despite his situation. “Didn’t think you were the kinky type, angel. But then again, you _did_ have Meg. Did she ever play nurse?”

Hearing Meg’s name being so casually mentioned sent a new stab of regret through Castiel, one he hadn’t felt in some time. He had only discovered, much later, that Meg had died while delaying Crowley from getting his hands on the angel tablet. He wasn’t sure if anything would’ve really come out of Meg’s suggestion back then, but she had been a friend to him, had been there for him at the hospital, and he regretted not being able to save her.

It appeared that Sam realized that he’d been hurt by the mention of Meg for he shot Dean an unimpressed look. “Dean, _shut up_.”

It was equally clear from Dean’s expression that he was not inclined to do anything of the sort. Knowing that he hadn’t been of much help in searching for Dean and wanting to spare Sam more verbal abuse from the demon that wasn’t completely Dean, Castiel intervened before Dean could redirect his taunting back to Sam.

“Sam, go and get another pair of handcuffs. I can watch Dean for now.”

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you-”

“I’ll be fine. Go.”

After Sam took his leave, albeit visibly reluctant about it, Castiel turned back to find Dean looking at him knowingly. 

“So it’s just you and me, huh? As I said, _kinky_.”

Castiel glared, but Dean continued to speak, undeterred.

“Well, what do you wanna do? You got me all nicely trussed up here, and Sammy won’t be back in a while. Don’t you wanna know if it’s really Dean Winchester sitting here? Wanna give me a _thorough examination?_ ”

Courtesy of both his exposure to humans and Metatron’s pop culture information dump, Castiel could now mostly recognize innuendo of the sexual variety. But he refused to show Dean that he was affected by it.

“I would recognize your soul anywhere, Dean,” he said instead.

And it was true. Though it was now warped and twisted, Dean’s soul was still unmistakable to Castiel. Dean’s soul was a darker, smoky black than when Castiel had first seen him in Hell all those years ago, and threaded through the darkness, concentrated on his right arm, was an ominous, pulsing blood red – the sign of the Mark. Yet underneath it all, he could still catch glimpses of a mix of emerald green and blue-white of Dean’s human soul. That shade of green was so unique to Dean that Castiel doubted he would ever forget its radiance.

“Quite a flatterer when you put your mind to it, aren’t you? Well, if you’re waiting for permission to, y’know, _get in me_ , you have it.” Despite the bonds securing his legs to the chair legs, Dean still managed to spread his legs wider in his position. 

Coupled with his lewd words, it was obvious what Dean was really driving at. “Dean…”

“Is it not clear enough? Or is it the wording? It’s a yes, angel. Yes.”

It was an obvious perversion of the consent given to host an angel. Yet when it came from Dean – who was meant to be Michael’s true vessel – it was infinitely compelling. The pull Castiel had always felt towards Dean seemed to multiply a hundred-fold then, but he resisted. He had to resist. Because it _wasn’t_ Dean. The real Dean would never agree to this, and Castiel did not want to be another burden on Dean’s shoulders.

A traitorous part of Castiel still wondered if there was truth hidden in Dean’s provocative words. After all, Dean had not been possessed; his soul had been turned into a demon’s within his own body by the Mark. Had a part of Dean, even when he was human, been attracted to Castiel?

But even if that were true – and it could be, since Castiel was aware that Dean’s sexuality wasn’t as straightforward as he tended to present – a purely physical relationship was _not_ what Castiel wanted from Dean. Besides, Dean had only ever expressed romantic feelings towards females during the time that Castiel had known him. So he had been content with being Dean’s friend, not wanting to upset the friendship that they had. In the earlier days of his acquaintance with Dean, it had been easier to ignore the feelings that he was developing towards Dean because he was still unfamiliar about what they meant. That had become less easy to overlook over the years, and it hit a head during the period of time he’d become completely human and Dean had kicked him out initially without any explanation.

Until this moment, Castiel had still been unsure if Dean had realized that Castiel’s feelings towards him had shifted beyond pure friendship. But apparently Dean _had_ noticed; he just had not wanted to acknowledge it explicitly. Until now. In a wholly malicious way.

“No, Dean.”

But Dean was not dissuaded from his taunting. “C’mon. You have a type, don’t you, angel? And I’m just it right now, aren’t I? Don’t be shy. You can admit it. I’ll even let you take a ride, if that’s the way you want it. No strings attached, just how you roll, ain’t it?”

“I do not have a type.”

It was a bad move to have responded to that. Unfortunately, Castiel could not take it back now.

“Of course you do.” Dean started counting off with his fingers. “There’s Meg – a demon. Then Daphne, who’s human but you know, she couldn’t have been all that normal if she picked up a naked amnesiac on the road and then married him. Meg _again_. Then your latest conquest was a reaper who killed you after she was done. I’m seeing a pattern here, angel. You don’t go for normal, not even when you became human. I wasn’t normal for a human, but now I’m a demon. With the Mark of Cain. You do the math.”

Put that way, it did seem like Dean had a point. But Castiel knew that even if Dean as a demon was more in touch with his feelings, in a manner of speaking, he still did not know the intricacies of each of his other seemingly romantic relationships.

With Daphne, in truth, they had not been married. It was likely true that there was something different about Daphne, for her to take him in and then pose as his wife when he had no memory of who he was. Of what he was. As Emmanuel, Castiel had liked her, but mostly he had been very grateful towards her. He still did like her, and she would forever have his gratitude for the kindness she’d showed him in his time of need. But at the end of the day, it was not love.

With the reaper, it had been about seeking comfort after he had fallen, had turned human. Before realizing that April was not who she appeared to be, Castiel had been touched by her kindness, and when things appeared to move towards the direction they ended up taking, he had not been averse to trying it out. After all, his only role models for humanity had been the Winchesters and neither Sam nor Dean had had problems with one night stands. It had backfired on him quite spectacularly, but at the crux of it, it had been about comfort for Castiel. Not love.

As for Meg… It was less straightforward with her. The first kiss he had ever had, had been with her. He knew that it was for the purpose of taking his blade, but despite the strong taste of sulfur and the little sparks of discomfort because of their opposing natures, Meg’s kiss had been quite pleasant. By that time, he was already more curious about experiencing different facets of humanity, even if he had not identified the reasons as being linked to Dean. So when Meg had broken the kiss, he had turned around to reciprocate, wanting to understand even more why humans (and demons) put so much stock in carnal pleasures. Then a year later, after he’d taken on Sam’s hallucinations, Meg had been the one to stay and care for him. It was inevitable that he had grown attached, though he was a little surprised that Meg had felt the same way. Of all the people Dean had listed, Meg was the closest to how he felt for Dean. But even then, it was a distant second. A very distant second.

He’d kept silent for too long. Dean leaned forward as he pressed on, head cocked to one side. “You realize that if you turn me back, you’re just gonna get that emotionally repressed, pathetic human who would deny that he has the hots for you even if his life was on the line, right?”

Castiel sighed. “If you’re trying to talk me out of curing you, you’re not doing a very good job, Dean.”

“Really, now? How about I put it in simpler terms for you? See, human me would never admit to anything more than familial affection towards you, no matter how fucking obvious it is to anyone who’s spent more than five minutes that he has less-than-platonic feelings towards you. Me as I am now?” Dean paused, likely for dramatic effect. “I’d tap that. _Repeatedly._ So, cure me? You won’t even get to benefit.”

“Benefit,” Castiel repeated flatly, barely able to believe what Dean was saying.

Yes, Dean had been taunting him along the lines of sex. But it was increasingly looking like Dean, as a demon, truly wanted to have sex with him in one way or another. Castiel really did not comprehend why.

“Yes, benefit. You don’t like to admit it, do you? But you want me. And I’ll bet a part of you doesn’t care that it’s not human me, as much as you want to deny it.”

Dean leaned back against the chair, as if making himself comfortable. As if he was extremely certain that Castiel could not find fault in his words.

Castiel could not.

“As I said,” Dean continued smugly, as if having read Castiel’s thoughts, “You have a type, angel. And it’s more demon than not.”

“You just want to get free. I’m not that gullible, Dean.”

“Who says freedom and pleasure can’t go hand-in-hand? I’m all for the pleasures in life. I’ll even let you live afterwards. Think about it. I know how much of a pain you’re going to be if I let you go, ‘cause you’re just gonna come chasing after me again. I don’t normally leave loose ends. Especially not now. You’re getting a very good deal here, angel.”

“And what of Sam?”

“Eh,” Dean shrugged. “Afraid I can’t let Sammy live this time. I’ve warned him repeatedly to let me go, y’know. Even told him I was gonna kill him if I saw him. Look what happened. Not gonna risk that again. But if you really want to save him, I could cut you another deal. You mind-whammy Sammy into not coming after me ever, and then come with me and stay with me. I’ll be good to you, angel. So good you won’t even think of leaving.”

“That’s not going to happen, Dean.”

As per what was becoming the norm in the span of this conversation, Dean utterly ignored his statement. “You know, I can see your true form. Or maybe it’s not really your true form, since I have my eyes and I’m not seeing the four heads and all that jazz. But damn, I would love to get my hands on those wings right now. Are your wings sensitive, angel? I’d really like to find out. I guarantee you’ll enjoy yourself. We’ll have so much time to explore all of you. And you know, I may not be familiar with reading your wings, but I think you like what I’ve been suggesting. They don’t have to be just suggestions, angel. But… it’s your call.”

“All we’re doing is going round in circles, Dean,” he replied firmly, continuing to ignore how Dean managed to pinpoint truths about him with such devastating accuracy. “I’m not letting you go, and I’m certainly not going to dissuade Sam from curing you. When you are human again, you will appreciate it.”

Even if Castiel could see that it was easier, sometimes, to not be human. Having experienced being both an angel and then a human, it was something he could say with much certainty. 

Humans just _felt_. They felt so, so much. While it wasn’t true that angels were incapable of emotion, the intensity of most angelic emotions was merely a pale imitation when juxtaposed against what humans felt. The same could be said of demons. Having been human once, demons definitely felt emotions pretty strongly. But they were free of morals and scruples and so were not bogged down by negative emotions. Dean, though, felt so much more intensely than anyone Castiel had ever encountered, even given his professed aversion to “chick flick moments”. As a human, Dean’s joy was stunning to behold. Conversely, his negative feelings, especially those of guilt, were amplified. And because of this, of how strongly emotions resonated within Dean, as a demon, he was even more dangerous – Mark of Cain notwithstanding. 

If Castiel could, he would remove all the misplaced guilt and self-loathing that Dean felt. But that would probably involve a lot of alterations to Dean’s mind and what made Dean _Dean_ , and if Dean ever found out, he would hate Castiel. So Castiel could only hope that with time, Dean would let go of those unwarranted emotions.

He knew that when Dean turned human again, he would be mortified enough by what he’d said to Castiel. It would add on to Dean’s already low self-worth. Of course, that was assuming that Dean would retain his memories of his time as a demon. Neither Sam nor Castiel had borne personal witness to the aftermath of a successful cure, and Crowley did not count because the ritual had been interrupted, but from the Men of Letters’ recording, it appeared that the once-demon human did remember his deeds as a demon. If they were lucky, Dean would not remember. But even if Dean did, the likelihood of Dean bringing it up was low. Castiel was, after all, very familiar with Dean’s modus operandi of avoidance. In this case though, it could be for the best.

“That’s a shame, angel. Looks like you’ll never have me in the way you want. Human me will never love you.” 

There was a distinctive finality to Dean’s tone, and barely a few moments later, Castiel realized why. Sam re-entered the dungeon, a new pair of spelled cuffs dangling from one of his hands. Castiel wasn’t sure if Sam had heard the last words that Dean had said. It was highly possible that Dean had sensed Sam’s approach, and now Dean had turned his focus back on Sam. A part of him felt the loss keenly. It had been so long since he had Dean’s undivided attention, even if the manner he’d obtained Dean’s attention could not be further from what he wanted.

Sam gave him a look, eyebrows raised in a silent query. He was still unsure if Sam had caught the last threads of conversation between him and Dean, and he did not want to read Sam’s mind to try to find out.

“We’re fine, Sam.”

It was mostly true. Dean was still bound, and Castiel was not injured. Well. Not physically anyway. He was, unfortunately, shaken by Dean’s taunting. The demonic influence made Dean hit where it hurt with unerring precision, even though this time it was with words instead of other physical implements. But if he had learnt anything from the Winchesters, it was to swallow down the pain and keep going. Besides, they had more important things to worry about than his feelings right now.

So far, it appeared that the ritual of purified blood was working to cure Dean. But the Mark of Cain was a wildcard. Castiel could only pray that this ritual would work, because they had no other leads to work on. Perhaps the demon tablet could’ve come in handy, but there were no more prophets since Metatron fiddled with the angel tablet. Thus that option was no longer viable.

Sam snapped on the new set of runed handcuffs around Dean’s wrists, and then they began the ritual again. Luckily, they were still within the one hour interval between injections and so did not need to start all over again. After the next injection was administered, Dean started cursing in earnest as his features contorted in pain. Castiel’s chest hurt at the sight, and silently he marveled at the determination Sam had to see this through. The last thing Sam would’ve wanted would be to hurt Dean, even if it was part of the process of curing him. Castiel knew that Sam was strong, and now he appreciated it even more. Nevertheless, Sam still winced a little at Dean’s pained growls, and so Castiel laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder in silent support and comfort. 

There was no choice; they had to go through with this. Even as Dean raged at them, insisting that he did not want to be human, that he much preferred being a demon, they persevered until finally the last dose of blood was administered, and Dean fell silent. Castiel determined that Dean was merely unconscious and then it was a waiting game. Waiting for Dean to awaken again.

Because even as Castiel monitored the progress of the treatment with his angelic sight, even as he saw more and more of Dean’s soul being revealed, he still worried. The Mark of Cain still pulsed an ugly red, and there was no way to know if it would not negate their efforts.

Then, at last, Dean regained consciousness. His eyes opened, demon black, and for a moment Castiel felt fear and crushing disappointment. Then, the inky black receded with the last of smoke clouding Dean’s soul. Dean seemed disoriented, closing his eyes again and shaking his head, as if to clear it. Sam adjusted his grip on the flask of holy water, while Castiel did the same for his blade, just in case those eyes flicked to black when they opened again.

But Dean’s eyes stayed green. A green Castiel hadn’t realized he missed until he saw it again. Then those eyes focused, and it was truly Dean looking back at them.

“You look worried, fellas.”


End file.
